


Cuts and Other Complications

by WackyGoofball



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Romance, a bit of bloodloss but nothing severe, brahrah ulalahhhh I can't think of more tags, like seriously, lots of banter, oh yeah, on the importance of kitchenware safety, snark snark snark and more snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 23:44:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9095848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WackyGoofball/pseuds/WackyGoofball
Summary: Brienne has to put up, yet again, with her neighbor and source of constant annoyance Jaime Lannister, who has, yet again, invaded her home, even if Brienne is busy with prepping up dinner for a special occasion. Then cuts and complications occur. I suck at summaries. Bye.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GumTree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GumTree/gifts).



> Hello everyone! 
> 
> Thank you for looking into this story. I hope you will enjoy the ride. 
> 
> I felt like writing something... far, far out of canon, with a modern!AU, and lots of JB banter, because JB banter makes me happy again. 
> 
> The usual things I always send ahead: This story is unbeta'd, I am no native, therefore I owe about as many mistakes as my English teachers for not educating me better, LOL. 
> 
> I gift this to GumTree because Gum is fab and Gum deserves likely more than this fic will provide, LOL. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy. 
> 
> Much love! ♥♥♥

Brienne pinches the bridge of her nose with her free hand as she stirs through the stew simmering on the oven.

Just why in the Seven Hells does it always have to be her who ends up in these kinds of situations?

Why is it always her?

Why her?

_Why? Just why?_

“C’mon, wench, you might just as well tell me!”

“I won’t tell you anything. And I have asked you for the past hour to finally leave my apartment, instead of slouching on my couch, as you have done the whole damn time!” Brienne snaps.

Because only Brienne of Tarth happens to have her neighbor and personal annoyance stuck in the body of a modern-day Adonis sprawled on her couch as though he lived here.

Despite the fact that he _most definitely_ doesn’t live here... _though Jaime doesn’t seem to have gotten that memo._

He lives upstairs, in his own loft, actually, spacious, big, with fine furniture, enough room to fit an entire soccer team in there… but he rather spends his time in her apartment, as it appears.

Jaime made a habit of it to just turn up at her apartment whenever it seems to suit him, which resulted often enough in him walking on her in all sorts of embarrassing situations: her working out, walking out of the shower with just a towel, which then resulted in her screaming, and hiding in the bedroom, almost falling over, and that one time Brienne had foolishly believed she was alone at home and turned up the volume to her favorite song that she already danced to when still a teenager and there he stood in the doorway, smirking smugly at her, telling her not to stop.

Brienne honestly wants to punch that smug smile out of his handsome face.

_Daily._

“Wench, you know you can’t hide anything from me. In general, nothing much to hide anymore anyway! It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked yet! What other secrets could you hide from me?” Jaime goes on, unimpressed, enjoying himself way too much.

“Because you walked into my friggin’ bathroom, without knocking, without… _any_ sort of reason! Which is why I took the spare key I gave you away again,” Brienne reminds him, wriggling the spoon she just washed with water around, splashing some water around, though she doesn’t really care.

She just wants him to leave.

Thinking about that particular situation she just mentioned, that was likely one of the worst encounters she ever had with Jaime Lannister, and the Gods know she had _many_ with him. Because in the bathroom, Brienne lacked even the towel, after all, she wasn’t expecting Jaime Fuckin’ Lannister to just walk into her bathroom without prelude of any sort.

Though Brienne could see the surprise and blush on his face.

It might be ungracious, but she could still laugh that he coiled back and hit his door against the door frame as he pedaled back out, shouting sorry, and quickly bolting back up the stairs to his own apartment.

Not that this prevents him from being smug about it ever since the next day rose.

However, Brienne enjoys the private knowledge that Jaime Lannister, who is never ashamed of anything, was about as awkward about it as she was, because he apparently thought she was just brushing her teeth, wanting to borrow… what was it again?

_Oh, right, toothpaste._

Because Jaime forgets anything when shopping the groceries.

In general, Brienne still asks herself how the man ever survived on his own. He can’t cook. Gladly, he has people wash the laundry for him, or else he would have to buy new things on a daily basis. He doesn’t know how to use the breaker box, let alone _find_ it in the basement, which is why Brienne normally has to do the duty. And he has no clue whatsoever about what to keep in the kitchen stock so that you don’t have to starve every second evening unless you happen to have a neighbor the likes of Brienne, who is apparently capable of live management on at least that level.

_Talk about rich boys getting a life._

“Yeah, sucks for you that you didn’t foresee that I would already have a spare for the spare key,” Jaime chuckles maliciously.

“Or that you somehow got your hands on the new one after I changed the locks,” Brienne grumbles, gathering root vegetables to toss into the stew after cutting them up.

“I am a Lannister after all,” Jaime argues. “I have my resources.”

“An _abandoned_ Lannister son,” Brienne corrects him.

“I wasn’t _abandoned_ , I rebelled against the Lannister Crown,” Jaime argues. “One is done by others, one is a self-determined act of defiance against a corrupt system set up by the Lannister House’s patriarch!”

Brienne shakes her head.

Jaime broke with his father some years back, after finding out about some shady, that is, illegal and morally _more_ than questionable, business plans that Jaime couldn’t bring himself to agree with. This was then coupled with some arguments regarding the family, specifically his younger brother Tyrion and the treatment of him by both his father and twin sister Cersei. As far as Brienne knows, both make a sport of it to humiliate the dwarfish man with a great mind. Brienne had the pleasure to meet him a few times. While she was a bit uncertain at first, because he is only into pretty girls and born with a sharp tongue, which made her fear that he would dismiss her without even knowing her. Though she soon found out that he was a great sport, could make jokes at his own expanses, and made it easy enough for Brienne to joke about her own issues as well, such as her ugliness or mannishness.

Which is what made her secretly admire Jaime for taking the step to step away from the family the way he did eventually. He left the family company, telling his father he would only return to the job if structural changes are being made.

Up to date, the company has not made any changes whatsoever, which means that Jaime lives in the apartment he bought with his own money, paying everything by himself, pissing his father off by working in one of the rivalling companies in one of the top positions, his trust fund blocked, his inheritance frozen, but Jaime apparently having zero fucks to give on the matter.

And yes, Brienne admires him for that, even if it saddens her that he has to be that defiant. She has a wonderful father who couldn’t ever stand to be at argument with her for more than a few days.

But that is the way it is at times. You have to make choices and live with the consequences. Even the uncomfortable ones.

“Such a brave little fellow you are,” Brienne huffs, chopping some celery. “Hey, how about you leave now?”

“You don’t want me to go, we both know it,” he argues.

“ _I_ know I want you gone because I want you gone. I have things to do,” Brienne retorts.

“Cooking meals for your sweetheart.”

“No, cooking food,” Brienne insists.

For _some_ reason, he keeps insisting that she has a sweetheart, and no matter how many times Brienne told him that it’s a) not his business, and b) not the case, Jaime keeps insisting.

And Brienne is tired of correcting him.

“For a _date_ , you already let that bit slip,” Jaime insists. “You clearly said the word.”

“Yes, for a _date_ , but _not_ with a sweetheart.”

“You might just as well tell me the name of the fellow,” Jaime snorts.

“Or you might just as well get your ass off my couch and get back to your own apartment,” Brienne retorts, chopping up more celery than necessary, feeling anger and heat rise all the way from her chest to her cheeks, which only makes her more furious, because she hates it that this always gives away her apparent distress, which Jaime readily picks up on to make her even angrier.

“It’s boring there, all alone. It’s much more interesting to watch you squirm, on the brink of spilling your dirty little secret about your _romantic adventure_ ,” Jaime argues.

“And I don’t care if it's boring at your apartment. At some point, I should just get you one of the fishing rods for cats, with a plush toy at the front so you can entertain yourself on your own. In _your_ apartment.”

“I am no cat but a _lion_ , c’mon, wench. Take a good look at me. Do I look like a kitty to you?” he argues, gesturing at himself.

“Since cats annoy me, yes, you remind me so much of a _kitty_.”

“Meow,” he purrs mockingly, mimicking a cat extending its claws.

“Get out now!” Brienne shouts, starting on the carrots now.

“What will you do if I don’t? Will you wrestle me to the ground? You know you won’t beat me,” he says with the kinds of tease in his voice that makes Brienne’s blood boil hot and cold at the same time.

_Damn him._

“I can beat you any time if I want.”

“Then you _don’t_ want?” Jaime chuckles. "Aww, how sweet."

“I don’t want to wrestle my neighbor to the ground when I have way better to do. _Way_ better,” Brienne huffs.

“Wench, we are _more_ than neighbors! C’mon! We actually dated before!”

“Once. And that date doesn't count. It was a complete disaster,” Brienne reminds him. "We both agreed that we would rather... undo it."

_And truly, it was a disaster, a total mess._

“Well, will have to give you that much, that is actually true,” Jaime comments. “And we didn’t even know that we were each other’s date.”

_A blind date!_

“Who could have guessed that Brienne of Tarth can be found on the dating website _Lonely Heart Trees_?” he goes on, laughing.

“The same people who could have guessed that Jaime Lannister was browsing the website?” Brienne retorts.

It was one of the most embarrassing evenings she ever went through. Brienne had chatted with that guy for a good while. He was really funny and didn’t _at all_ act like the asshole from the loft above hers!

Well, so she thought.

They had arranged to meet up at a nice, expensive restaurant, upon his choice. Brienne dressed up, all fancy, as though she cared about pretty dresses and the like a whole lot more than she actually does. She even bothered to put on that stupid blue dress that Jaime said brought out the color in her eyes when she bought it for some other date a while back, which was ever the more ridiculous - since he therefore picked the dress he was going to see for himself some time later. She had made her hair look passable. And she had gotten herself a paperknife shaped like a sword, which was supposed to be her sign for the mystery date, since both turned out to be passionate about medieval weaponry and swordfight.

To cut a long story short, Brienne then found herself waiting by the bar until the guy arrived, and the guy turned out to be her pain in the ass neighbor, Jaime Fuckin' Lannister, who had a similar paperknife as his sign.

So there was no way of denying it anymore.

At first they had just stared at each other.

Then they awkwardly laughed.

Then they agreed to go with it anyway.

But it just kept getting worse.

Far worse.

Jaime pulled the chair back for her, but too far, so she fell down on the ground.

Brienne knocked a glass of wine over, right into his lap, ruining the pricey suit by _Tyrell_.

They couldn’t bring themselves to talk, even when normally, they talked for hours while at home.

They looked more at the dishes of food before them than at each other.

And they gave each other an awkward hug as a goodbye when Jaime brought her to her apartment.

A _very_ awkward hug.

They didn't talk to each other in days, until Jaime broke the silence and said as it was. Awkward. And that he wouldn’t want that stupid date to get between them. They agreed to just forget about the date, and soon enough they were back to their usual amount of madness.

And that was _The Tale of a Blind Date Gone Horribly Wrong_.

“I stopped blind dating after you.”

“Now I feel honored,” Brienne snorts.

“So who’s your date?” Jaime asks again.

“OUT,” Brienne snaps, gesturing at the door with the knife in her hand, hoping that this will come off threatening enough for him to retreat.

_But no such luck._

“Did you meet him on the website? Do you have a stranger come to your apartment? So they have your address? Wench, that is dangerous. You never meet the guy at your apartment first. You always meet on neutral ground first. Who knows if that is not someone the likes of Qyburn who likely experiments on body parts in the basement, if he doesn’t make sweet love to them?”

“I deleted my account last year… also, stop saying these things!” Brienne shouts. "You keep giving me visuals."

“I am just trying to keep you safe from weird, creepy men who may be murderers with a foot fetish… or whatever other fetish.”

“Oh, you mean like that weird guy who keeps invading my home, eats up all my yoghurts, and acts as though he lived in the apartment?” Brienne retorts.

“What I do is endearing,” Jaime insists, fluttering his eyelashes for emphasis.

“It is _not_ , which is why I would appreciate it if only you finally left,” Brienne grows.

“I would long since be on my way if you shared that crucial information with me.”

“I don’t have to share that information with you. So you might just as well leave.”

“Is he going to show up tonight?”

“If he were, would you leave, then?” Brienne asks.

“… Nah, I think it might be good if I greet him,” Jaime replies, easing back down on the couch as though he owned it.

Though then again, beside Brienne, hardly anyone has spent so much time on the couch as him. There is even a dent where he usually sits.

“Greet… him?”

“Yes, think about it! I am good at reading people. Give me five minutes with that guy and I know if he is a psycho, so we can abort the mission if need be!” Jaime replies joyfully, seemingly very satisfied about that _plan_.

“So we can abort the mission?” Brienne repeats.

“I can think of something. Emergency call. Someone of the family squeezing out a baby. Someone in the family is _always_ squeezing out a baby…,” he says, mentally going through the options, as it seems.

“In all sincerity, what part of ‘get out’ don’t you understand?” Brienne grunts, chopping up more carrots.

“The part where you persistently keep the man’s name from me. I mean, the guy who gets to date Brienne of Tarth, c’mon, that man jumped through some many hoops, I am sure.”

Brienne finds the corner of her mouth twitching in anger.

What is that supposed to mean now?

She knows that she is considered to belong into the category of “un-dateable” because of her looks and… general behavior, but she thought that Jaime had at least that bit of piety to no longer say such a thing ever since that blind date from hell.

“So what? You want to shake the guy’s hand? Give him a medal?” Brienne retorts, trying hard to contain her anger, or else he will only feel encouraged.

 _Calm yourself, he is not worth it. This is not worth it. Not worth it_.

“Well, the guy _deserves_ a medal, that’s for sure.”

“For what?”

“For making the impossible happen?”

“The impossible,” Brienne repeats, feeling heat rise to the top of her head. She is used to him insulting her, but somehow, this now starts to cut deeper than her own kitchen knife.

“It is rare enough that you date anyway.”

“Rare.”

Because no one would date her? Is that the implication?

_Seriously?_

Brienne chops the carrots into way too tiny pieces, but she finds herself unable to care.

“Do you just keep repeating passages of what I just said?”

“I am just… processing.”

“Processing what exactly?” he asks with a frown.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Brienne replies in a sarcastic voice. “Maybe that my neighbor has no better to do than invade my home, bitch about my food…”

“You always put in too much salt!”

And now Brienne has had enough.

“… _case in point_. That he has no better to do than ignore my repeated requests of leaving my home. Still believe that invading my privacy is a sort of contest. Still believe that insulting me is _endearing_ or not at all hurtful, because _apparently_ , that has been the very basis of our, let’s say, _relationship_ , since the very first day that we met and you asked if I am a guy and help you carry the bulky, way over the top, red velvet armchair with friggin’ golden embroidery that is so very Lannister that it’s nothing but tacky and screams _bachelor in need_ at anyone taking a good look at it.”

Brienne grabs a new carrot. She doesn’t need more carrots, but she needs something to ram her knife into.

Jaime grimaces at her. “My armchair is…”

“It’s NOT about the armchair! It’s about that I want you to leave my friggin’ home so that I can finish this broth that I need for the dinner I am preparing for…,” she says, but then stops as there is a different kind of clank from the usual sound that comes with cutting up vegetables. Brienne lets go of the knife, standing completely still.

“… I’d very much appreciate it if you… left my home now. Right now,” she says in a meek voice, her eyes wide open.

“Brienne, are you alright?” Jaime asks, visibly irritated.

“Perfect!” she says curtly, her voice way too high.

Jaime gets up from the couch slowly.

“And you’re sure?”

“Absolutely,” Brienne says in a rather high-pitched voice. “If you were so kind now…”

She gestures at the door.

“Oh, by the Warrior!” Jaime cries out. Brienne glances at her arm with which she gestured, which is even more of a bloody mess than it was a few seconds ago when she cut herself.

Just why is her body faster than her brain at times?

Brienne blinks once, twice, but then her mind kicks back into action. She whirls around as Jaime already makes his way behind the kitchen counter. She maneuvers over to the sink to start the water, grabbing a bunch of paper towels in the meantime.

“Did you lose a finger? Or more than one finger?”

“What?! No, I didn’t cut off my finger!” Brienne retorts, tilting her head to the side Jaime comes to stand on, already phone in hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Calling an ambulance?” he replies nervously.

“Don’t make yourself ridiculous. Put the phone away, right now. It’s just a cut,” Brienne grounds out.

“Tell that your kitchen counter. This could have been filmed for a splatter movie.”

“Those body parts tend to bleed a lot. I hit no major artery. This is _just_ a cut. So it’d be most kind of you to stop making me nervous with ambulances that we apparently don't need!” Brienne snaps.

Brienne tries to tear off the paper towels, which proves to be more difficult than she first anticipated with just one hand usable at this moment. She growls in frustration, but that is when Jaime grabs the towels to tear them off.

“I can do that myself,” she grumbles.

“I saw that,” Jaime huffs, having none of it.

“Okay, can we now agree that you screwed up my evening enough and leave me alone?” Brienne exhales.

She just wants him out.

She wants to be alone and feel miserable for herself for making such a fool of herself with this almost movie-worthy scene, if only for a bad splatter movie.

“ _I_ screwed up your evening? Hey, I didn’t swing the knife. You can’t push the blame over to me for that one,” Jaime argues, holding up his hands.

“No, but you kept distracting me,” Brienne snaps, but then lets out a long shaky breath.

Count to ten.

_Or three._

“In any case, could you just… go?” she exhales wearily.

“And leave you here bleeding out? I don’t think so, wench,” Jaime argues.

“I am _not_ bleeding out, by the Seven!” Brienne growls, pulling her hand away from the ice-cold water to wrap the bunch of paper towels around the injured hand. “So I’d very much appreciate it if you did not make me fuss about you on tops of everything.”

“Fuss about me?”

“You keep distracting me!” Brienne retorts. “My hand should be proof enough for that!”

“Tell me what to do and I can help you,” Jaime argues, his voice surprisingly sincere now.

“I don’t need your help.”

“Tells me the one-armed bandit.”

“Out!” Brienne shouts.

_No, he doesn’t get to make jokes about this just now._

“Fine, let’s try again: Where is the first aid kit?” he exhales.

“Maybe you have one in your apartment? So then you could stay there?” Brienne suggests, narrowing her eyes at him.

Just what is so difficult to understand about her wanting to be left alone?

“If you don't tell me, I will do a quick search around the apartment,” Jaime argues. “And Gods know what I might find in the meantime.”

“You will not.”

“Watch me,” he snaps, his eyes suddenly very intense, bringing Brienne to involuntarily shudder, but then she catches herself. Brienne narrows her eyes at him, but Jaime’s gaze keeps tearing right through her.

_He is not joking about this._

“In the bathroom. In the cabinet beneath the sink,” she sighs at last.

Jaime rushes off without another word while Brienne turns back around to her kitchen counter, looking at the masses off chopped-up vegetables and bloody carrots.

“That’s really splatter worthy,” she grumbles. “And so much to my chopped carrots… and dinner.”

As if on cue, Jaime comes back out of the bathroom with the kit in hand, flinging it down on the carrots, not even seeming to care what tumbles to the ground.

“Ah, sterile gauze at last!” Jaime cries out once he holds up his yield of square packages with tiny print on each. He walks over to Brienne, though she is surprised when he presses the flat of his hand in her back to make her move forward to one of the bar stools in front of the kitchen counter, gesturing at her to sit down.

“Are you dizzy? Nauseous?” Jaime asks, completely absorbed into the task now.

“What? _No_. As I keep telling you, the blood loss is far from severe. I lost more blood as a kid after playing with wooden swords too much.”

Jaime tears open the wrapping.

“Okay, let’s take off the towels. I think that is more hygienic.”

“Likely,” she agrees. Brienne starts to pull at the ages, grimacing at the pull on her skin.

“Ambulance after all?”

“Shut your mouth,” she retorts.

At last the towels come off and Jaime does quick work to put some gauzes over the still oozing cut.

“Well, it seems that you earned yourself a ride to the hospital after all,” Jaime says, wrinkling his nose.

“What?” Brienne asks, blinking.

“The cut looks like it needs stitches,” Jaime explains. “So, you will now stop being pouty with me and let me drive you to the hospital without further complaint.”

“I am no child.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

“You are the one to talk,” Brienne grumbles.

It’s because of his childish behavior that she ever got the cut!

“You don't get around the ride to hospital.”

“Fine! I will have it checked out. I will call myself a taxi. Geez,” Brienne says, rolling her eyes, hoping that this will finally be the end of the ordeal, but…

_No such luck._

“It’s faster if I drive you. Remember? I have one of those fancy, bachelor cars with red and gold like a total loser?” Jaime says.

Brienne rolls her eyes at him.

“So alright, then I will just grab my car keys from upstairs and then we should head out,” Jaime concludes, hopping off the bar stool swiftly.

“You have your key chain with you,” Brienne argues. “Because you apparently used the key to get into my apartment and invade my living room.”

“But my key chain doesn’t have the car keys on it,” Jaime replies.

“What’s the sense of a key chain if you don’t have the stupid car keys on it?” Brienne retorts, furrowing her eyebrows.

“I keep them on separate key chains. I don’t want people to have my car key and my house key if they get either one!”

“Who does that?!” Brienne cries out.

“Can we argue about that once we are in the car?”

“Fine!”

“If you start to feel dizzy, shout, scream, whatever,” Jaime says, already approaching the door.

“I won't faint, Seven Hells,” Brienne grounds out, suppressing any urge to smack her forehead on the tabletop.

“If you do, be sure to shout so I can catch you.”

“Car keys?” she suggests another time. Jaime nods. “Right.”

And off he is, bolting up the stairs, or so Brienne reckons by the sound of him climbing the stairs, two at a time, if she is not mistaken.

Brienne shakes her head, cradling her injured hand to her chest, making sure to keep pressure on the wound. Normally, she would have sent him back to his apartment no matter what, but he is right, that cut needs stitches. So, she will… have to take the offer, even if it is her pain in the ass neighbor.

Great, he will keep telling her about that for the next five years, most likely. How he saved her life and all.

He will blow up the story to a damsel in distress story with him as the golden knight in shining armor. Maybe he even makes up a car chase and fighting off a wild bear. She wouldn’t put it past Jaime.

 _Terrific_.

Brienne lets out a long, shaky breath. She should gather her insurance card and all that, if they want to head out fast. The young woman gets off the chair to grab her briefcase, which she left on the dresser after she came home from work.

_Damn that thing for having straps which are hard to handle with only just one hand._

“What the Seven do you think you are doing?” Jaime’s voice rings out behind her. Brienne turns on the heel, with briefcase pressed against her stomach as she tries to work the straps with one hand.

“Getting my insurance card? The stuff I need to get treatment, remember?” she replies, having none of it.

“You could have waited for me those ten seconds, no?” he retorts, walking over to her to simply take the briefcase from her. Brienne sucks her lower lip into her mouth. She hates it to be patronized in general. Being patronized by Jaime Lannister is a completely new level.

And she loathes it.

“I also need my key chain and my phone from my small table over there,” Brienne says.

“I will get that,” Jaime says, walking over with the briefcase, blindly sticking his hands into the case to search for her purse while scanning the table for the other items.

“Don't chicks usually have one of those handbags with everything already in it?” Jaime comments.

“Do I look like one of the girly chicks to you?” Brienne snorts.

Isn’t that why he thinks she is un-dateable? Because she isn’t like the “chicks”?

“True again,” he huffs, retrieving the purse at last. “Anything else?”

“No.”

“Alright, then we should be on our way,” Jaime says, walking back over to Brienne, gently pushing her forward. As he goes, he grabs her coat, and out the door they are.

Soon enough, Brienne finds herself sitting in Jaime’s sports car.

“Men and their toys,” is all she has to say. Jaime laughs once, but only briefly, and if Brienne is not mistaken, it’s actually worry washing over him again and again.

“You are driving too fast,” she tells him once he starts to speed down the main street.

“I am merely twenty above the speed limit.”

“That’s twenty above the speed limit too many,” Brienne lectures him.

“I am just speeding up so we can get to the hospital fast.”

“How many times do I have to say it until you understand? The cut is not at all that severe. And no, the splatter argument doesn’t hold,” Brienne retorts.

“Feeling cold or so?” Jaime asks, unimpressed.

“Oh Seven Hells, Jaime,” she grounds out.

“What? I am just concerned. Crucify me!”

“Don't ask me to crucify you because I might!” Brienne tells him, but then adds more calmly, “You want to turn left over there.”

“It’s faster over Eel Alley.”

“At that hour? No chance. Party people all around. They walk on the streets like zombies. It’s like moving cattle out of the way.”

“How would you know?” Jaime argues.

Brienne rolls her eyes.

_There it is again._

Is it really that unbelievable that she is out partying every now and then?

_Seven Hells._

“I have to pick up friends from there often enough,” she replies.

“… And so left we go, at _your_ risk,” Jaime exhales.

Short time later, they reach the hospital.

Jaime helps her out of the car before taking her by the back again to push her into the ER, and Brienne can do nothing much but stare as Jaime rushes up to the front desk, demanding to immediately see a doctor.

The nurse, a pretty woman with an exotic look and curly brown hair, only gives both of them a good look up and down, before quipping, “We have enough patients with worse injuries who’ll take precedence before her. Please take a seat in the waiting area. You will be called once a doctor is ready to see you.”

“You don’t seem to understand, lady,” Jaime snaps. “My name is Jaime Lannister, son of Tywin Lannister…”

“Jaime, stop it now. She is just doing her job,” Brienne hisses, before turning to the nurse behind the counter with an apologetic grimace. “You must excuse him. He seems to have lost his mind.”

“I did not…,” Jaime means to say, but Brienne just interrupts him again, “Shush!”

“Did you just shush me?!”

“ _Yes_! So c’mon now, let’s not act like the entitled rich boy and sit down, hm?” she suggests.

Brienne starts to walk ahead. Jaime grumbles to himself as he already wants to turn around to follow her, but then the nurse, Shae, as the nametag reads, gets his attention.

“You may want to fill that out in the meantime,” the nurse says, handing him a clipboard.

“If something happens to her, I will hold you all responsible,” Jaime says in a low voice.

“Just go sit with your wife, Sir,” Nurse Shae replies, rolling her eyes.

“She is _not_ my wife.”

“You damn well sound like it, though. So now, if you were so kind? The less disturbance, the faster your not-wife will get to see a doctor? Hm? Sounds like a plan much?”

Jaime narrows his eyes at her, snapping the clipboard from her to walk back over to Brienne, slumping down in the seat next to her with a low growl.

“Let me guess: The woman fell victim to your charm at once and will have the boss of the whole department treat me since the abandoned son of Tywin Lannister demanded so?” Brienne jokes.

If she has to suffer through this, Brienne sees no sense in keeping all the suffering to herself. He can have his share.

“I am working on it, wench. I am working on it,” Jaime grumbles, persistently staring at Shae who just keeps winking back at him in the most mocking manner.

“Yeah, give me an update once there is change, maybe next year,” Brienne huffs, before holding out her good hand to Jaime.

“What?”

“The clipboard.”

Jaime grimaces and hands it to her. Brienne angles her legs to stabilize the board on her thigh enough to write before trying to unhook the pen from the clipboard.

_This is really much more difficult with one hand._

“I can also do that.”

“I cut my left hand, not my right. I can still write,” Brienne insists.

“Whilst doing gymnastics to somehow balance the clipboard. I mean, that means you show off your long legs, so I won’t complain about the display, but it will take you forever and who knows? Maybe you get a cramp in your leg from it?”

“Oh, shut your mouth already,” Brienne retorts, but Jaime just acts and takes the clipboard away from her. Brienne sighs, leaning back in her chair, letting her feet sink back to the ground.

_Those are the Seven Hells._

“So okay, let’s go through this… Is it Brienne _Tarth_ or _of Tarth_? Or does the ‘of’ pass for a middle name?”

“Just write Tarth, it should be fine,” Brienne grunts.

“Address… easy enough… almost the exact same as mine! Date of birth and age… done… by the way, you never thanked me for that fabulous birthday present last year and I am still mad about it.”

“You made a mess of my kitchen because you decided it’d be a good idea to do the icing in my kitchen while I was still at work, so I had to clean up two hours once I came home to that blue mess. And the cupcakes were awful.”

“Unthankful wench you are! Personalized baked goods, c’mon! You are the only one I bother to put myself to shame with cooking for! Also, I had to do it in your kitchen because I needed your fridge to leave them there for later.”

“Which still makes zero sense, but oh well, it’s not like I am not used to you trashing up my apartment.”

“Alright, let’s move on… telephone number and cell phone…”

“333…,” Brienne begins, but Jaime interrupts her. “I know your phone numbers, now don’t make yourself ridiculous, wench.”

“By heart?”

“I always memorize phone numbers You don’t?” Jaime makes a face.

“ _I_ do, but most people think it’s sufficient to just save the numbers to their phones.”

“Yeah, well, if I have to make a phone call from a lonely phone booth, after my cell died, in the middle of nowhere, it’d be good to actually recall the number of the person I need to call come pick me up,” Jaime replies. “So anyways, that is done, too… Occupation… does ‘ _wench’_ count as such?”

“If you dare write that down, you’ll need the doctor before I do.”

“Fine, just continue being a poor sport,” Jaime grumbles, rolling his eyes. “Then let’s go with ‘ _architect_.’”

“Well, thank you for putting down my actual job.”

“You’re _so_ welcome. Moving on… allergies? Other than being nice to me?”

“I am allergic to you, I suppose.”

“Shall I put that down? Allergic to Jaime Lannister?”

“No! Just write ‘no allergies.’”

“Such a healthy wench…,” Jaime says with a smile. “Any conditions? Chronic?”

“No.”

“Very good. I bet you will get a good-student-star for such a squeaky-clean record,” Jaime chuckles. “Oh, forgot the third line, let’s see… ‘sex’, hm…”

“I swear to the Seven, if you tick ‘male’ or ‘other’, I will smack you across the face.”

“I was going to make a pun on having sex as in _making sweet love_ , but oh well, ‘female’ it is, after all I can confirm _that_ …”

“You are so dead once I can use my hand again.”

“Oh, marital status. Now would be the time to tell me of your engagement to your secret sweetheart! Or if you are married to someone and just never bothered to tell me, which would be wounding, I may add.”

“No spouse, don’t make yourself ridiculous.”

“So… not divorced or widowed or separated?”

“What? No.” She makes a face.

“Hey, just asking. How would I know if you didn’t get married under some heart tree back on Tarth?”

“You did look at my face, right?” Brienne retorts.

Ugly girls like her don’t have secret sweethearts and youth loves they married one summer day.

Also, that is _so_ out of the movies.

“Which stands in the way of you being married _how_?”

Brienne stares. He is… honestly at a loss as to why her looks may prevent her from being married?

“So… ‘single’ it is. Oh, when was the last time you had sexual intercourse?”

“That’s not on the clipboard, you jackass,” Brienne retorts, shoving him in the arm lightly.

“Man, I thought I was getting you with this one,” Jaime chuckles.

 “You are impossible. Also, why would you care?”

To her surprise, Jaime says nothing at that. Brienne furrows her eyebrows.

“… Oh, still have to fill in the social security… number thing,” he mutters before going ahead to fish out her card from her briefcase. Brienne licks her lips, still trying to make sense of this, about his sudden hesitance and the uncertainty, but gives up soon enough, nothing about this makes any sort of sense. She watches from the corner of her eye as Jaime goes on to copy the numbers.

Brienne looks around. Gladly, the waiting room is not so crowded, so it shouldn’t be that long until she can see a doctor.

“Hey, you think I should put down my information under the legal guardian section?”

“Most definitely not,” Brienne huffs.

“Hey, I drove you here and I filled it out for you. Wouldn’t that be some sort of textual recognition of the effort I made?”

“No, it’s also your damn fault, still, so you will leave that space empty. Now give me the thing so I can sign it.”

Jaime makes a face, but then holds the clipboard before her, thrusting the pen in her good hand. Brienne quickly scribbles something on the line in question.

“Then I will take that back to the lady and see if I can piss her off some more,” Jaime says, getting up.

“Leave the staff alone!”

“This takes forever anyways! Might just as well entertain myself – and make people aware of the circumstance!”

And off he is again. Brienne leans her head back. It throbs about as much as her cut does, but Jaime tends to give her headaches all the while, so that is nothing new.

Soon thereafter, Jaime makes his way back to throw himself into the seat next to her.

“No luck?” she huffs.

“That woman is intimidating,” Jaime grumbles, hugging his chest.

“Because she doesn’t fall victim to your charm?”

“She is like a rock. Hey, are you two related by any chance?”

“As far as I know, no, I don’t happen to have relatives from across the Narrow Sea, judging by the accent.”

“Seriously, this hospital is crap. This shouldn’t take so long. I mean, it’s not like there are many people waiting!”

“Could you lower your voice a bit? There are other people here,” Brienne lectures him, not quite believing it that she is doing that with what should be a grown-up man who also should know better than that.

“I am aware, at least I have an audience.”

“Oh by the Seven.”

“… Do you want me to text your boyfriend that you can’t make it for dinner?” Jaime asks after a while, not looking at her, his knee bobbing up and down.

“What?” Brienne looks at him, confused.

“Hey, I don’t want your sweetheart sulking on my door steps like a cat in the heat, waiting to be let inside,” he tells her.

“I told you often enough that I have no date tonight, I prepared food for tomorrow.”

_Just why does that guy never listen?_

“Well, if he is not a total asshole, he might want to turn up here and be by your side and all. So? Want me to text him?”

“Just why do you keep insisting on the matter? I mean, _that_ is exactly what brought about this mess! That you can’t leave it alone about what is going on in my love life. By the Seven, are you that much in need to see the face of whoever may be into me?” Brienne cries out, fed up with this.

_So **very** fed up with this._

It can’t be that sensational that a guy may want to date her!

“As I said, I have to make sure about that guy.”

“I told you often enough that it’s no date-date. It wasn’t tonight, it isn’t tomorrow.”

“Girls always say it’s not at a date-date, even when all know it is. The ladies just want to be sure that the guy says it's a date-date because they are seeking it to be official and all that crap.”

“There is no sweetheart.”

“You keep telling yourself, wench. You just don’t want me to take a good look at the guy and lecture him.”

“ _Naturally_ I wouldn’t want _you_ of all people to talk to anyone I might be interested in. Remember that date I had half a year ago? That guy I met at the conference? You crashed our date. And I still think you only made it up that you had a water damage in your apartment. For that it looked too clean the next time I came by.”

“There _was_ a water damage and no company would come at the hour. Was I supposed to play row-your-boat with my couch?” Jaime insists.

“You sat on my couch as I had dinner _with my date_ , watched some soccer game, helped yourself to some popcorn, kept tossing it around as you hollered at the screen, oh, and interrogated the guy to the point that he took off!”

“I was saving you, wench, accept it already. That guy was no good.”

“He was very kind,” Brienne argues.

“Exactly. _Kind_. What do you want a kind guy for?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Not being an asshole the whole time? So, like you?” Brienne snaps.

“Ha, no, here is the thing, wench: Guys can be kind, no issue, but he was the kind of kind that tells me he wasn’t into you and just stuck to it. Why? Maybe because you asked him out and he didn’t say no?”

“ _He_ asked _me_ , thank you.”

“The point is, if a guy takes you out on a date and doesn’t do anything to _heat it up_ a bit by the point of time you eat self-made chocolate mousse with strawberries, he is a goddamn loser. You shouldn’t be polite on a date if you have any intention of taking this to the next level. That guy should have been all over you long before I came in.”

“He was a gentleman,” Brienne insists.

_And thanks to that date, he never once called back. Big surprise._

“He may have been a gentle man, but definitely below your rank. Also, that guy wore garters. _Garters_ , Brienne.”

“Did it ever once occur to you that the guy didn’t feel like taking it to the next level because my neighbor was sitting on the couch as though he belonged to the friggin’ inventory?”

“By the time I came down, you were already fixing up the dessert. I mean, you sent all the right signals. _Strawberries_ , goddamn. That you didn’t put up a bowl of whipped cream to lick off of somewhere for emphasis is only because you have too much class for that. So yeah, the guy was a loser and you are better off without him. I saved you.”

“You saved me from getting laid,” Brienne snorts.

A while back, she wouldn’t even have said that word around Jaime, let alone aloud, but that is the only way he understands things at times. If Jaime, while forcefully, taught her one thing, then it is to be more direct.

_At least to him._

Because the odd thing is that Jaime is the only one she talks to about her dates.

He is the only one she is that direct to.

Even on those matters.

“He wouldn’t have laid you because he was a loser who didn’t get it that you were into him. Definitely not strong enough. That guy was a blatant idiot and wore garters.”

“What about the time when I was having my fun time with that guy I met at the café and you just burst into the room with some nonsense excuse again? I can’t say that guy was too polite,” Brienne argues.

No, the date was pretty much nonexistent. They got into her room and started kissing. Brienne was pissed because just the day before, she had had a big fight with Jaime over yet some nonsense she can’t even seem to remember now.

“That guy was an asshole and you know it, wench.”

“He was into me.”

_Which is “ **rare** ” enough. _

“That lech looks up any damn woman’s skirt at the café, I can tell, because I am a regular customer. I think that if he were to have business cards, he’d only use them to hook up with chicks. Seven Hells, he’d likely print a pic of his cock on it to avertise himself.”

“Well, did it ever occur to you that I was aware of that and that I was just looking for some fun?” Brienne snaps.

She might be shy, but Brienne is no longer the awkward teenage girl she was back in the days when the likes of Ronnet Connington had their fun at her expenses.

“He was an ass. He called you _Lianne_ the next time he saw you. A guy who doesn’t remember the name of the chick he wanted to bang, and got the luxury to kiss is a girl whose name you should remember, you know? If you don’t, you’re an asshole.”

“It’s always reassuring to know that you have all my dates figured out from the start and just decide for me.”

“I am just doing what natural selection would otherwise do. I mean, I can’t blame you, really, it seems like you have a crap taste in men.”

“If this refers to Hyle Hunt, you can count yourself lucky that I have an injured hand,” Brienne growls.

She told him in private.

_In private!_

“You deserve more than that, that's all I’m saying, wench.”

That makes Brienne stare at him.

 **_Deserve_ ** _more?_

Brienne wants to reply something in return, but that is when a nurse stands before them.

“Ms. Tarth? The doctor is now ready to see you. If you were so kind to follow me? I will take you to her.”

“Thank you,” Brienne says, getting up.

She looks back at Jaime, who seems somewhat jumbled, and only now it dawns on her that she kept him around when she could have sent him home all this time.

“Ah, sorry, I totally forgot… you can just go home, Jaime. I can take a taxi once I am done. Thank you for the… first aid and the ride… and all,” Brienne says awkwardly, before grabbing her briefcase and following the nurse, whereas Jaime remains seated a while longer, staring after her as she disappears in one of the rooms.

Brienne is led into one of the small rooms with mint colored tiles.

“Good evening, Ms. Tarth,” the doctor greets her. Brienne whirls her head around to see the dark-haired woman before her.

“Oh, uhm, good evening to you, too,” Brienne replies awkwardly

“Please, have a seat,” the doctor says. “I am Dr. Maegyr, by the way. And sorry for the inconvenience of keeping you waiting that long. While there aren’t many in the ambulance, we just had an emergency that kept us all occupied.”

“Oh, no, no bother.”

The woman smiles at her as she finishes disinfecting her hands to then put on some gloves.

“So, Ms. Tarth, what exactly happened?”

“I was cutting vegetables with a sharp knife. I got distracted and cut myself,” Brienne explains. The doctor pulls a chair over to sit upon before starting to uncover the wound with gentle hands.

“You would have no idea how many times that happens,” Dr. Maegyr tells her in a reassuring voice.

“It’s good to know that I am apparently not the only one,” Brienne laughs uncertainly.

“You really aren’t. Though as a doctor, I obviously have to advise you to stop cutting if you are not entirely focused on the task. However, I do understand that we rarely do. I cut myself often enough.”

The last gauze comes off. Brienne winces at the pull on the still tender skin.

_At least the bleeding slowed down._

“Do you feel any numbness?”

“No, it just throbs.”

“Yeah, I imagine. You will get something for the pain once we are done. Can you move your fingers for me?”

“Sure,” Brienne says, doing so.

“Good, seems like no nerves were damaged. Gladly, it was a sharp knife, so it’s clearly cut edges. Ragged edges would be far worse… though we won’t come around stitching that, I fear. You cut the webbing, so the stretch of skin between thumb and forefinger. Since that part is usually tensed, the skin won’t stick together unless it’s held together by some stitches.”

“Oh yes, I know. I do sword fighting for a hobby. I cut that often enough, even if… not that bad, actually,” Brienne replies.

That is the thing – if you know that you are handling a dangerous weapon, you are likely to be more cautious than you are when handling something as trivial as a kitchen knife.

“Alright… I checked your files, I think we are good on all shots. I will disinfect the wound another time and give a local anesthetic, so you won’t have too great discomfort. Then I will sew it, and then you should be fine with some antibiotics and something for the pain, just in case.”

“Alright.”

The procedure is more of a blur for Brienne.

It’s not like this is something particularly new to her. She spent more than a few hours at hospitals getting stitches – to the point that she rarely feels them even if they don’t give an anesthetic. She always was a wild child, much to her father’s anxiety at times, being his only child now, after her other siblings passed away at young age.

“Alright, we are done,” Dr. Maegyr announces as she finishes the thick bandage around her hand. “Just bear in mind that you should keep the wound clean and dry. I’d advise you to change the dressing at least once a day. I would like to see you back maybe a week from now, to see if we can take out the stitches. Take the antibiotics as prescribed, so one per day, after you have eaten something. Be sure to come back if you develop a fever or if the area keeps feeling hot.”

“Okay.”

“Well, then I think that’s it for tonight.”

“Thank you very much.”

“You can just take that slip to the house pharmacy right down the hallway to get the antibiotics. After that, you are a free woman again.”

“Alright, thank you very much, Doctor. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Brienne does quick work to pick up the meds before heading back to the front desk. She needs to take out her cell phone to call for a taxi after all, but with one hand, that still proves to be difficult. However, that is when her eyes catch something in the waiting room. Or rather, _someone_.

“What are _you_ still doing here?” Brienne asks as she walks into the waiting room, glancing at Jaime with wide eyes. “I told you that you can just go home.”

“Well, I decided to stay and give you a ride home,” Jaime tells her.

“You really didn’t have to,” Brienne argues.

“I know, I still wanted to. It's the least I can do. C’mon, the nurse keeps giving me the evil eye,” Jaime says, narrowing his eyes at Nurse Shae one last time.

Brienne shakes her head as Jaime just takes the briefcase from her before ushering her outside.

“How many stitches?” he asks once they are in the car.

“Seven only.”

“ _Only_?”

“I once got thirty as a teenager because I thought I was ready to fight with a sharp sword when I really wasn’t.”

“You live a dangerous life, Brienne.”

“Nah, I just didn’t listen to my instructor.”

“I am sorry about that you got injured, though,” he says uncertainly. In the dark, it’s hard to make out the exact expression on his face, though Brienne can hear that he is sincere about it.

“… Does it hurt your face to apologize for something, you tell me?” she asks, wanting to keep the mood light for some reason.

“You have no idea,” he laughs.

“It’s alright, really. I was just pissed at you in general. I should have put down the knife, so please… you can blame yourself for pissing me off and for being a pain in the ass, but not the injury. Also, luckily it’s my left hand, so I can still do my job.”

“And you can put on some stickers and glitter for your date tomorrow.”

“Oh Seven Hells, just when will you quit it?!” Brienne grounds out.

She tries to be nice, and that is how he thanks her!

“I was just…,” he means to say, but Brienne is having none of it.

_Enough is enough._

“Look, if you really _must_ know, because for _some_ reason you seem to feel the inexplicable urge to just keep digging through my love life, you can well ask _Renly_ if he appreciates the glitter and the stickers when he comes over with Loras and Margaery tomorrow!”

“Wait, so it’s only Renly and the gang coming by?” Jaime gapes. "They are... your date?!"

“YES!” Brienne cries out. "I said I would cook something for them!"

“Why didn’t you just say that?” he exclaims.

“I _told_ you that it’s _not_ a date. You didn’t believe me. And I see no reason to share with you who I see and when!”

“You could have saved us both the trouble if only you had said that,” Jaime argues.

“It would have saved us both the trouble if only you had shut your mouth!” Brienne shouts.

_This is ridiculous._

“Just what is it to you if I am out with Renly, Margaery, and Loras? What is it to you if a guy apparently brings himself to ask me out on a date? If he may even like me against the odds of my looks? What is it to you if I just want to have a good time every now and then and even take up with what I know is a guy only out for an adventure so long I am also just out for a bit of fun, being aware that most guys don't consider me relationship material? Who gave you the right to go digging around it and make fun of me for the matter? Who gave you the right to…,” Brienne rants, only to let out a small squeal as Jaime pulls into the parking box before the apartment at once, bring the car to an abrupt halt.

She turns to Jaime, meaning to yell at him for such lousy parking, when suddenly he leans over, grabs her chin with long fingers and pulls her mouth to his.

Brienne can do nothing but stare at first, but soon the intensity of the kiss, the possessiveness it comes with, wipe out the curses she’d normally throw at him, and she can only focus on the sensation of his lips on hers, _eager for more_.

Jaime pulls away after a very long moment, chest heaving, loose strands falling into his eyes. Brienne stares at him again, before punching him in the shoulder, _hard_.

“Ow! What was that for?!” he pouts.

“For kissing me, jackass! What in the Seven possesses you?!”

“ _You_ , wench, you. You possess me and it’s driving me _nuts_ ,” he curses.

“Oh, so now _I_ am also your excuse for being an insane bastard?”

“I kept obsessing about your date because you little tease keep telling me about your dates. It’s taunting!”

“ _Taunting_? You also date, don’t you?”

“And aren’t you pissed about that whenever I take a girl home?”

Brienne’s mouth falls open. Truth be told, she makes a sport of it to keep teasing him on this blonde chick and that brunet’s high heels, and how they probably all have the same range of names and are dumb little geese.

“Oh please. Jaime, do the math. We are not together. We actually dated and we aren’t a couple. So, you and I can date whoever we want.”

“Because the blind date was a mess! I am aware.”

“Well?”

“We both have dated, and in case you did not realize, both our love lives have been achingly awful for a long time now,” Jaime says. “Now _you_ do the math, wench. You keep dating losers, I keep dating chicks my brother keeps introducing me to who have about as much in common with me as I have with that redhaired fellow with the beard living next door who could be a Wilding if not for the wrong period. Why would that be?”

“Well, apparently we have crap taste in partners?” Brienne snorts.

“That may be, but you know, tonight, sitting in that waiting room, I had some time of silent contemplation,” Jaime says, his knee bobbing again.

“I hope you didn’t break your head.”

“Not this time,” he laughs drily. “But I just realized that I keep dating almost comically stereotypical women who have nothing in common with me because the best part is to have you bitch about it the next day. Just like you will tell me about your dates the very next day.”

“So?” Brienne grimaces.

Though upon reflection, it really is their sort of ritual to keep making fun of each other’s love life. Or the lack thereof.

“I keep getting mad when you have dates, because I think they are not at all worth your time and effort. Not… worth you. If I am being honest with myself, I see that one thing: I… get jealous.”

“Jealous,” Brienne repeats, her mind unable to process the information.

“It seems so. Shocking, I know. And with your mystery date, it drove me _mad_ because I thought that if you keep him a secret from me, the guy means something to you,” Jaime replies.

“It’s Renly,” Brienne blurts out.

“I know that now! I didn’t back then!” Jaime insists, sounding about as frustrated as she feels.

“… So…”

“You know, the blind date was plain as day a mess. There is no way of denying it. But still it was likely the most memorable date I ever had. You are the only person outside my family that I am… _that_ private with. I am normally never close with people outside my family. Even with my other friends I am not that close, really. I mean, I practically live in your apartment half the time.”

“I am aware. You always drink up my orange juice,” Brienne grumbles.

“The point is… I think we really should have just gotten over the awkward that came with the situation of that blind date and… dated another time, and another time, however long it would have taken to make it no longer awkward. I think… we’d have a _much_ better love life, then.”

“The date was a disaster,” Brienne reminds him.

“It was a _date_ , not a relationship, alright? One singular instance, one night that was a mess,” Jaime argues.

“You mean to say that we are normal otherwise? Go kid yourself. The date was telling,” Brienne replies.

“Dates are overrated anyways.”

“For that you fussed quite a bit about mine.” Brienne narrows her eyes at him.

“Point taken.”

“So… that means…,” Brienne means to say, but Jaime interrupts her, “That means I like you, yes.”

“And that's why you act like an idiot?”

“I guess I am an idiot for more than one reason, but you are definitely driving me crazy,” Jaime huffs.

“Likewise,” Brienne snorts.

“I may also add that it’s still pretty pathetic of me that I come up with that in the car, with you injured, and your apartment still a mild version of a cheap splatter movie. I normally have much more style than that, but with you… it just keeps being a mess,” Jaime admits.

“Wouldn’t that ever the more be reason to opt out?” she argues.

“Only if _you_ want to opt out.”

Brienne looks down at her hands, playing around with a loose thread on her bandage.

_This is completely, utterly insane._

It is yet again a total mess.

“… I hate it when you date those stupid geese,” Brienne says almost sheepishly. “I never see or hear you laugh in earnest when you are around them.”

“You mean to say?” he asks.

“I… may have been jealous about that, too,” Brienne admits, not looking at him.

“Oh?” he chuckles softly and… _relieved_ , is it?

“We are losers.”

“I guess we are. And that even though we should be at the very top of the food chain. I mean, look at us, rich kids. Good jobs. Educated. Sexy.”

“It’s still pretty arrogant to call yourself sexy. And in my case… c’mon now,” Brienne argues, rolling her eyes at him, but that only earns her an intense glare from him that she can register even in the dark. “Woman, you’d have no idea just how sexy you are, and how much you drive me crazy with _just_ that. I mean, you show up in sports bra and leggings at my apartment often enough. Which is the equivalent to torture for me. Because you don’t even realize how torturous that is for me.”

“That was only three times, because I went out for a run and forgot my keys.”

“It took me about all of my self-constraint to not just jump you,” Jaime snaps. Brienne stares.

She? Torturous with her… sexiness?

_What?_

“Whatever,” she huffs, rubbing her right arm with her uninjured hand, feeling a blush creep back up her cheeks, glad that the darkness hides it.

“I mean that,” he insists.

“Right,” Brienne snorts.

“Brienne,” he says, his voice insistent, strong. “When I say something like that, be sure that I mean it. And really, ask yourself, if what I said was untrue, why do you think did I excuse myself really quick after I saw you naked in the bathroom some time back?”

“You mean…,” Brienne stammers.

“Yes,” he growls. “I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of you… like that.”

“Oh.”

“So you see that you definitely drive me crazy. To the point of insanity.”

“Don't blame me for your craziness,” Brienne huffs. “Okay, can we move out of the car now?”

Jaime grimaces at her in the dark, confused at the sudden change in mood, but then follows anyway.

They walk back to the apartment complex, get into the elevator, and stand there in silence as some nonsense tune plays on the radio.

Brienne is busy ordering her thoughts, which feels like an impossible task at this point.

Jaime walks her to her door and turns the key in the lock without another word.

“Well, that was… a surprisingly eventful evening, I guess,” Brienne says awkwardly once she is inside, standing opposite to Jaime leaning against the doorframe.

“Very eventful indeed.”

Brienne looks around, biting her lower lip.

“What is it, wench? I can hear those wheels turning inside your head. If it’s about what I said in the car – I didn’t want to put you under pressure or so, it’s…,” Jaime means to say, but Brienne interrupts him, head lowered, louder than usual, “Ask me out on a date.”

“Wait, what?” Jaime blinks at her.

“You mean it? Then ask me out on a date,” Brienne says stiffly. "Before I change my mind again and likely regain common sense."

It’s a mess anyway, why not make more of a mess?

“You are asking me to ask you out on a date?” he laughs.

“You know what, forget it that I ever asked,” Brienne grumbles, already meaning to turn away.

She never should have said that. She never should have…

“No, no, no! Wait up now, not so fast,” he replies quickly, grabbing her by the arm so she cannot turn away from him. “Brienne? Will you go on a date with me tomorrow?”

“No,” she replies simply.

“Oh, c’mon,” Jaime grounds out. “That’s mean teasing, wench!”

“ _Not tomorrow_. Because _then_ I have other plans, with Renly, Loras, and Margaery. But the day after – I would like to, very much. Though you don’t get to cook, and I won’t cook because of the hand, so it’s either restaurant or takeaway.”

“… Takeaway over at my apartment?” he suggests.

“Fine with me,” Brienne replies uncertainly, trying to sound confident nevertheless.

“Less pressure. Might be for the best.”

“In fact… so, I will see you then?”

To her surprise, Jaime crosses the threshold, then, grasps her by the waist and pulls her in for a long kiss, far more intense than the first one since they can now both move freely. Brienne just sinks into his touches as though they were the softest of duvets.

She didn’t know how much she was longing for it until his lips were on his, until she could feel his breath hot against her skin.

“I thought we might do some catching up before getting to the date?” he smiles against her lips, breathing hard, nostrils flaring.

“I see no opposition to that?”

“Good,” he says in a low voice rumbling in his chest. “Because I have lots of catching up to do.”

He knocks the door shut with the back of the heel, his lips back on Brienne’s.

Still likely the worst date ever, but Brienne finds herself unable to care.

Because, as it seems, sometimes, your neighbor and personal pain in the ass turns out to be… _still_ your neighbor and personal pain in the ass... but also a magnificent kisser. The kind of a guy who doesn't leave your side when given the easy way out. The guy who makes you go to the hospital and yells at nurses because apparently… he is worried and cares for more than he lets on at times. The kind of a guy who has a dent on your couch. And who is jealous because it’s you.

Because he wants you.

And if Brienne is honest with herself, she can’t deny that those feelings are mutual, were in a longer time than she was able to admit to herself in a long time.

Her lips and body speak those words without words, though Brienne still gets the message. Because they want, they keep pulling him close, don't want to let go, she can feel it all the way to the furthest corners of her mind.

No matter the mess this situation is.

No matter how ridiculous all of this is.

Because sometimes, a visit at the hospital is all it takes to make you realize something that you denied to yourself in an achingly long time.

And the scars to remain to remind her of it from this day forth.

“But just so that you know, no horizontal tango tonight," she warns him.

“Oh, c’mon," he mewls.

“We didn’t even have our first date yet, and no, the blind date does not count.”

“Hm, let’s see if I can’t convince you otherwise.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Hey, if you wish me good luck, I will make it for certain.”

“Go on dreaming.”

“If that means going to bed…”

“My hand is injured.”

“For what I want to do with you, you don’t need that hand.”

“Shut your filthy mouth!”

“Make me, with your lips!”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“Jaime!”

“I love it when you squeal my name.”

“You know what? Get out.”

“Never again.”

“Oh Gods.”

* * *

  **2 years later**

 

Nurse Shae sits behind her counter, watching the people flooding in and out of the ER like waves. Gladly, today is not such a busy day, so it’s more like small waves most of the time.

That is until two people rush into the ER.

Though to Nurse Shae’s surprise, the woman keeps laughing, while the man keeps pouting at her in a way too loud voice, his right hand wrapped in a bunch of gauze and paper towels, making it look like a giant white boxing glove.

And that is when Nurse Shae remembers the tall woman with the blonde hair, which is a bit longer now, sleeked back, though a bit of a mess, likely from hurrying into the ER, wearing not too fancy but still no baggy clothes, whereas the man wears a light blue shirt that has now blood stains in many places.

The blonde woman walks up to the counter, tapping her fingers on the tabletop, offering a surprisingly relaxed smile. The ring on her finger making clicking sounds whenever she does.

“Hi, we need to see a doctor. My husband cut himself on a knife.”

“It's her!” the man calls out, staring at Shae, only to narrow her eyes at her as though she was his long since proclaimed arch enemy.

Shae cocks an eyebrow at the handsome man.

_Husband, ha!_

“Ignore him. I think we need the questionnaire and all?” Brienne goes on.

“Oh yes. It shouldn’t take long until you can see a doctor. There’s not too much going on here today,” Shae tells her.

“Good. Thank you,” Brienne replies politely.

“Tarth, wasn’t it?” Shae asks with a smirk.

“You remember us?” The tall woman looks at her, rather shocked.

“You left a lasting impression,” Shae chuckles. “Also, I have a good memory.”

“We tend to… leave lasting impressions, I fear, at least that’s what we are repeatedly being told,” Brienne snorts. “Jaime, I know you are making faces behind my back. Stop that! Why don’t you sit down while I fill out the paper forms?”

“I am no kid, so quit talking to me like one,” Jaime grumbles.

“You damn well act like one, though,” Brienne retorts, before turning back to Shae, offering a crooked grin. “Sorry.”

“Oh, no bother,” the nurse assures her. “May I ask what happened this time?”

“He cut himself with a kitchen knife,” Brienne replies.

“Again?” Shae gapes.

“Well, he cut himself while drying the knife, while I cut myself chopping vegetables. I guess I am partly at fault for it, but oh well. It’s not too deep, as far as I could tell,” Brienne says. “Though I rather have it checked out.”

“It’s damn well your fault because you just dropped the news as I was handling dangerous kitchenware!” Jaime calls out. Brienne turns to him.

“And I apologized already, like five times. I thought you had the big spoon in the towel, not the kitchen knife. Or else I would have waited to tell you about the pregnancy until after you were done.”

“Well, I suppose I can congratulate you two on the baby, then,” Shae chuckles. Brienne turns on the back of the heel to look the nurse in the eye, offering a shy smile. “Oh, thank you. He is just… being a drama queen about it.”

“ _Drama queen_? You bear the heir of the Lannister and Tarth Empire, our firstborn child, and you drop that news without further prelude!”

Shae shakes her head, laughing silently to herself. She has seen the likes of those two during the years of work as a nurse. You just get to meet all kinds of people. That guy will most certainly fuss about anything relating to his sweetheart, while that woman will be the calm one when things get tough.

And now with a baby on the way, Shae already mentally braces herself for that man to pace up and down the hallways once it’s time for the delivery, like a lion in a cage, yelling at the staff, being a nervous wreck.

_They are always like that._

“Yeah, drama queen,” Brienne huffs. “Alright… I think that should do.”

She slides the clipboard back over to Shae.

“You will be called up once a doctor is available,” the nurse tells her.

“Thank you,” Brienne smiles, before walking back up to Jaime to lead him to the waiting room, sits him down, patting his shoulder with a wicked kind of smirk that makes Shae chuckle to herself.

Back when she first saw Brienne, she didn’t think the woman would have quite that attitude in her, but then again… people make you change, and that man surely left him imprint on her in more than one way now.

Jaime goes on pouting a while longer, but then she kisses him on the cheek and his face eases into the big dumb smile Shae has seen a thousand times on either newlyweds or young fathers. In which case, both seem to apply to that guy.

His free hand wanders to rest against Brienne’s stomach, murmuring something to her that makes her smile surprisingly radiantly against the odds of her looks, Shae can’t help but think.

“’Not my wife’ he said,” Shae huffs as she puts some folders away. “’Not my wife _yet_ ’ is what he probably meant.”

She looks back up at them another time.

“Unlucky lucky bastards, you two,” Shae huffs, only to then see Jaime snapping at a guy who almost bumped into them, pointing out to be careful about his wife “because she is with child”, to which she groans, apologizes to the man, only to then lecture her husband again, who is having none of it.

And the way Shae reckons, that is how it usually goes.

Some love to fight and some fight to love.

They quarrel some more, but then kiss again.

_Yeah, most definitely how it usually goes._

Shae smiles as she gets up to take some reports away.

“Better to leave the lovebirds to themselves and their quarrels.”

“You do understand that this means we will have to tell my Father?” Jaime says.

“You are aware that we still have to tell mine?” Brienne huffs.

“Yeah, but your Father will not be as bad as mine. Father will likely plan everything up until college for the Lannister heir that he has been looking for all this time.”

“He can plan all he wants.”

“You have met him by now. You know he can be… convincing.”

“He is your Father, that is your child, you will have to come to terms with all this.”

“So it’s now all up to me?”

“Hey, that’s your part of the family tree, not mine.”

“What about that whole stuff about ‘for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health,’ wife?”

“That didn’t include ‘for when your father in law thinks we are still living in the Middle Ages.’ I took the vow about how you are mine and I am yours, as far as I am concerned, that didn't include me becoming Tywin Lannister's.”

“Well, but that means you will have to tell your Father.”

“I wouldn’t want you to tell him anyway. I am still not entirely sure if he even likes you.”

“How would he not? I am adorable.”

“Well, he does get quite protective of me. So there is that. Oh, by the way, that means we have to get a new car. I won’t put the baby in a bachelor car like yours.”

“Woman, you already took my armchair from me. We have to draw a line at some point.”

“I don’t say we have to sell yours, I just say we have to get a new one. The baby won’t have space in the back of your car. Unless we strap the buggy to the roof. And no, that isn’t going to happen.”

“But I get to pick the name.”

“Who said that?”

“I say that. In my family, the fathers pick the names. It’s a tradition.”

“You just made that up.”

“Father named us all.”

“You believe that he was it all by himself and your mother never had any say? According to you, she ruled the house.”

“That she did, but… I still get to name the kid.”

“We will see.”

“I know what your ‘we will see’s mean, wife. They mean that you will do whatever the fuck you want and I got no say.”

“You know me so well, _husband_.”

“You don’t get to decide all by yourself.”

“You know, normal couples may just discuss baby names instead of fighting over who gets the honor.”

“Wife, you know us. We never do things the usual way.”

“That is… true.”

“And you et we’re going to mess up that child, a whole lot. I will totally spoil it.”

“I guess it’ll be fine.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Well, we made something of the mess that was our… relationship.”

“That is surprisingly optimistic of you.”

“I am trying to stay positive.”

“Or are you just trying to reassure me because you think I lost my mind over the cut and the pregnancy news?”

“Possibly?”

“One can always rely on you, Brienne.”

“We complement each other.”

“That we do… Okay, all that aside, where is the friggin’ doctor now?”

“Jaime!”

“Hey, I have an idea.”

“That’s never good.”

“You have to distract me.”

“With what? Tap-dance?”

“You can tap-dance? Wife, how dare you not tell me until now? I thought we shared all dark secrets now?”

“No, I can’t tap-dance, _husband_.”

“Oh, good, then you have to distract me in my favorite way after all.”

He kisses her. Brienne rolls her eyes, but then leans into the kiss.

It’s always like that, and will likely continue to be.

A bit of a mess, a big bit of a mess, but they somehow find their way through the chaos, even that of ERs and bloody cuts.

Some things just never seem to change.

And Brienne, for herself, found comfort in that by now.

“Hey, what do you think about hospital sex?” he murmurs.

“… Mention that one last time and I will have a divorce.”

“You don’t get rid of me that easily ever again, Brienne, face it,” he says, touching her stomach. “We’re stuck together in this mess we call our life.”

“That’s still a no to your suggestion.”

“Worth the try.”

He kisses her deeply, but that is when a nurse comes up to them, tapping Brienne on the shoulder to inform her that a doctor is ready to see them.

“Oh, c’mon! I was in the middle of something _really_ important.”

“Up now, husband. The doctor is waiting.”

“But I do get a kiss once I got my stitches? Poor me?”

“If you behave yourself?”

“You and I both know that never happens.”

“True again.”

_Yeah, some things truly never change._

And as it turns out, both are very glad that this is what stays unchanged, because, as it appears, quite a lot will change around them a few months from now.

**_THE END_ **


End file.
